


Ebb, Flow

by dvske



Series: Implicit [6]
Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Naval Duty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4762430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvske/pseuds/dvske
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't give her goodbye, just unspoken assurance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebb, Flow

**Author's Note:**

> Written solely because I woke up too early.

In the morning, he’s first to rise. 

He carries with him all the fervor of the night before: Starved kisses, saved up for the months to come. Lingering touches that traced the contours of his form with expert precision, with eagerness, as if for the last time. Every _I love you, I’ll miss you, I miss you_ murmured against the skin in faltering tones; stinging his lips and hers as they allowed themselves to be swept away in each other’s rhythm. One more night. One more time. No care for the day to come. For the moment. 

Six months, stationed at sea. 

And he’d come back.That wasn’t the question, was never in question. It was how they’d manage the distance at all? 

They thought they’d be used to it by now, the cycle of duty, the burdens it bore. Pain proved—always proved—to be sharp, staggering. In tandem, they flourished. Separated, there was an ache no amount of letters or phone calls could fill. 

_I love you. I’ll miss you. I miss you._

_I know._

Knowing, at least, was preparation enough. 

And in the mornings, when he rose long before the sun could greet him, long before she could give her goodbyes, he’d gather his things and leave her with a note. A peck, warm on her brow. Rare silence, for he couldn’t withstand any parting words. 

And a charm, tucked beside her. His coat. 

An over-worn thing, one he’d almost trashed until he realized she’d taken to wearing it when he wasn’t around. Two sizes too big for her lithe frame, but he’d find her wrapped in it nonetheless whenever he returned home. Curled in a ball, more at peace than he’d ever seen her in all their years together. 

_“Feels like you’re still here,”_ she’d once explained. 

Who was he to throw away such comfort? 


End file.
